


Dust and Ashes

by cortchuzska



Series: Tales of love lost [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: s08e05 The Bells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 13:19:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18851875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth.





	Dust and Ashes

“Jon Snow, you stand accused of treason to your rightful Queen.” She took a deep breath. “The one you bent your knee to; the one you pledged your loyalty. Me, the one who would always be your Queen.”

  
She wouldn't say _the woman you swore you loved._ She had still some pride left.

  
“Do you have any plea in your defence?”

  
He shook his head.

  
“So, you admit to your treason.” Her nostrils flared. “You would seize the Iron Throne for yourself. How long you have been wanting it?”

  
“You know I never wanted it.” He snorted. “Now less than ever.”

  
“What you did or did not want doesn't matter any more. ” _If I look back I'm lost._ She inhaled bitterly. “Let's the past be the past. All your words meant nothing. All your words were treason, wasn't I right?”

  
Jom Snow sighed but he made no reply. The Queen went on.

  
“If you had succeeded and you sat the Iron Throne...

  
He stepped forward and cut her short. “I wouldn't sit it.”

  
Grey Worm's lance butt sent him sprawling on the ground.

  
“You were right all along, though. “ Jon Snow wheezed as he got to his feet. “How many times I have been telling you I don't want the Iron Throne, how many I bent the knee, all the times I called you my Queen and how often I told you I loved you... Does any of it matter now?”

  
The Queen stared off. No, it didn't. How many of those who were blood of her blood had she sacrificed for him, how many times had she and her children saved him an his lot? Neither that mattered.

  
The flurries kept sleeting down, clad in pale grey and smelling ashy, too lazy to quench the still smouldering fires. There was nothing else to be said.

  
“I Danaerys Targaryen, first of my name, lawful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms1 sentence you to die.” _Is it the way it ends?_ Her lips trembled as she commanded “Speak your last words, Jon Snow, if you have any.”

  
He nodded and looked around, from the courtiers to the sooty marble columns, the braziers no longer pretending to drive out the chill, the breached walls gaping down to the city they all had fought for.

“How does it feel?”

  
“How does it feel what?”

Her eyes wandered blankly in the ruin that had once been the Throne Room, high above the heads of the silent people gathered in it. Its now broken lofty pillars slanted as jagged fangs of a gigantic maw.

  
“Getting all you ever wanted...” He replied wearily, and his gaze brushed the throne. “Sitting on it.”

  
She was finally home. How should triumph taste like?

  
She made her voice carry. “It's where I belong.”

  
His eyes went up to her. And finally the took her in. His gaze held more pity than fear, or hatred. “Have it melted.”

  
For a brief moment, the Queen allowed herself the thought it would be her best course.


End file.
